Hero
by Mrs41258
Summary: The last Medal of Valor, that is what remained to him to kiss. So when the need to kiss his wife was too strong, he reduced to press his lips on that useless piece of iron, before hurling it angrily against the floor. ShikaTema


_ Declaimer: Narut__o_ d_o_esn't bel_o_ng t_o_ me, it bel_o_ng t_o_ Kishim_o_t_o_ Masashi. I write just f_o_r fun.

_G__o__o_d reading :D  


Shikamaru Nara crouched down, put his knee over the damp ground, mopped the photo on the circular black stone and placed a single red rose in a single vessel.  
"Hello Temari," he mumbled with the twisted mouth.  
When his wife Temari was alive, she had fought successfully in the Marines, was always faster, better at shooting, more efficient than her male colleagues, was able to move trough the deserts of the Middle East so well that she was nicknamed the Temari of the Desert.  
When she was home on leave she used to jokingly accuse her husband that she, who was a woman, was at the front to fight the Talibans for their country, while he was at home with his ass on the heat and the head full of sexist slogans .  
She had even nicknamed him CryBaby, because once, when she was seriously injured by a mortar, he didn't manage to keep from crying in front of her for fear of losing her.  
And now, now that he had really lost her, who had been taken away by a bloody anti-tank mine, now he wasn't able to cry. He had been suffering, yeah, suffering continuously for three months, but he had not shed a tear.  
The media had called Temari "hero dead defending the country", they had praised her merits and medals, comrades she had saved, enemies she had killed, they made her a flag to identify with.  
Too bad that nobody really cared about her, nor the "heartbroken" journalists, nor the "afflicted" superiors, nor the country that "share the pain of the family."  
"Share what?" Shikamaru thought disgusted.  
None of the so-called Country woke up with him at night, during a moment of madness believed that the woman was still alive, fingered the mattress next to him and only after realized she was dead.  
No one was with him when he ate alone, looking at the place of his wife, imagining her beautiful and alive beside him talking proudly about her own deeds.  
No one was by his side when the morning he had no reason to get up, jumped the work, taking advantage of pity of his head, and stayed in bed until three pm, aiming to sleep all the time, all the time, because in his dreams, his wife was still alive and just there he could hold her and kiss her.  
The last Medal of Valor, that is what remained to him to kiss.  
So when the need to kiss his wife was too strong, he reduced to press his lips on that useless piece of iron, before hurling it angrily against the floor.  
The country, which even wasn't their because they had both Japanese origins, it had been said shocked and weeping, it had identified itself with her, it had used her as another reason to hate the Islāmic regions.  
"Dismayed" was said of the Army, "dismayed" was said by her superiors, "Dismayed" was said by the governor of South Carolina.  
"I do not give a fuck about your dismay," Shikamaru had replied in front of everyone, during the state funeral.  
A buddy of Temari, whose name was Snake, anwered:  
"You should not talk like that, your wife was a hero, unlike you"  
"I do not consider her a hero" was shouted out by her husband who had upset everyone and had left the funeral ceremony in the middle.  
He really did not think her as a hero, even though he was the only one to suffer for her death.  
She was not a hero, a hero dies to defend an ideal or a person, she was dead to defend the interests of multinational corporations and oil lobby, she had not died as a hero, but as a blind instrument of oppression.  
Maybe it was what was making him feeling so bad, so bad that he was unable to face a political or a soldier without feeling the urge to bury him alive in the tomb of his wife.  
Shikamaru lit a cigarette and smiled bitterly.  
She hated that he smoked, she always told him "Crybaby sooner or later this habit will take you to the grave."  
He snapped angrily "You got to the grave before me", stood up and turned to leave, once again looking at the photo where she looked lively, beautiful, fair.  
"I love you, Temari", he stammered.  
That was what was left of Temari of the Desert, a useless love for a grave and a 9.25 g piece of silver.

_S__o_ what d_o_ y_o_u think ab_o_ut it?  


_I'm an Italian fic writer and I can't "handle" english very well, s__o_ in _o_rder t_o_ impr_o_ve, I decided t_o_ traduce my st_o_ries and p_ublish them there. S__o_ if y_o_u n_o_tice a l_o_t _o_f err_o_rs, please d_o_n't think I'm an illitterate girl XD  


___I'd like y__o_u t_o_ tell me what y_o_u think ab_o_ut this experiment.  


___Thanks f__o_r having read!  



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